‘They’re hand-made by Hermès, sometimes in lizard and crocodile skin, and people like Victoria Beckham own them,’ Janine enlightened. ‘They come up for about 35,000 euros. Suzi told me about one that was 70,000, but that was ostrich.’

‘Why are they called Birkin bags?’

‘They’re named after that singer who had an orgasm on the record that got banned by the Pope. And no, Jackie, we don’t want you to exercise your acting skills and give us a demonstration!’

‘I keep my orgasms for my husband, thank you very much!’ Jackie pretended to be offended. The truth was she didn’t get many orgasms these days, public or private, but heigh-ho.

‘But how are we going to get hold of one of these ridiculous things?’ Jackie asked.

‘The reason I thought of it was because there’s a fake one in the window of the charity shop in Sissiac,’ Janine announced triumphantly. ‘I went in and had a look and it’s really good. You could only tell it wasn’t real if you were some kind of Hermès handbag expert. Why don’t I buy it and then offer it to Suzi for some huge amount – which we won’t actually take, obviously– and then let David find out what she’s agreed to, and he’ll see just how crazy she really is!’

‘I don’t know if that’ll work.’ Jackie shook her head.

‘Come on, it’s only fifty euro – if we all give ten,’ Janine encouraged. ‘It’s worth a try.’

‘That’ll make forty,’ Jackie pointed out, unconvinced. ‘No wonder you’re always losing dogs, Janine. You can’t count.’

‘I’ll put in the extra ten,’ replied Janine with a wink. ‘And maybe Jane Birkin’ll throw in a free orgasm. Now all we have to do is decide how much to charge Suzi!’

Philippe and the mayor walked round the site of the food festival together. Some early birds had already arrived and were setting up their stalls, eager to get the best pitches.

‘It’s going to be wonderful!’ enthused the mayor. ‘Every town and village had their annual fair in the Middle Ages. It was a really big occasion – people looked forward to it all year. And here you are, organizing ours. Merci, mon fils – I hope you don’t mind me calling you son? I had a son of my own. He died young, a defective heart, but I hope he would have been someone like you. Energetic, clear-eyed, valuing the things that matter in life. Not everyone here can afford to eat in your restaurant but everyone knows the story, how you gave up your three stars in Paris to make a home in Bratenac, and they feel a little bit proud.’